


Naked Flame

by Ann_arien



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU Glorfindel, Feanor topping from the bottom, M/M, Oneshot, Smut, gratuitous Feanor worship, le gasp, mild bondage, wait... Feanor doing what?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_arien/pseuds/Ann_arien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even naked flame needs to be tamed sometimes. Especially if that naked flame is one Fëanáro Curufinwë. As much as he can, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower seeks to contain the fire and keep the darkness encroaching on the flames at bay.</p><p> </p><p>  <i></i></p><p>
  <i>“I will break your headboard,” Fëanor drawled, stretching languidly.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’ve had it reinforced with steel bars after our last… incident,” Glorfindel smirked.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh… clever!” Fëanor complimented him with a sinful smile and tugged the restraint. “The ties won’t hold,” he said teasingly.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It’s spider silk,” Glorfindel’s grin sported many, many teeth as he moved to Fëanor’s other side and deftly bound his left hand as well. “The robe was a gift from my mother’s Vanyarin family. I may have torn the seams, but the silk will hold.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked Flame

It had been a long day for Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. Long and tedious, more so than any of the other days when he had been restricted by his duties within the confines of the King’s council hall. Not that performing his duties as Lord of his House and aiding King Finwë in any manner possible was tedious for Glorfindel. On quite the contrary, the golden Elf took great pride in the trust bestowed upon him by his King and great joy in the closeness between his house and that of the Royal family. 

Taking a sip of brandy from his glass, Glorfindel smiled fondly, thinking about that closeness. However, it did little to alleviate the fact that he had been sitting idly almost all day, being a fairly useless presence as long as topics such as musical arrangements for the upcoming festival were discussed. Glorfindel had been rather bored, as well, but he had sought entertainment in the excitement of his friend Ecthelion and the eagerness of the King’s grandson, Macalaurë.

Thinking of the King’s grandson also made Glorfindel smile fondly. He lowered his eyes to the amber colored liquid in his crystal glass and sniffed the brandy before taking another generous sip, satisfied with the aroma and the sting of it. 

Glorfindel was counting on the liquor to induce that pleasant laziness he needed to sleep. Another day of council duties awaited him come morning and the golden Lord had to repress his desire to saddle a horse and give chase intro the wilderness beyond Tirion’s mighty walls. 

His long sleeping robe caught the faint sliver light of Telperion, shimmering in soft blues, as he walked to the open windows of his bedroom. A gentle breeze carried the distant sounds of the slumbering City, playing with the light curtains. Glorfindel closed his eyes, allowing the soft fabric to caress his face, before pulling it aside a fraction and peering at the world outside his chambers. As always, he took a moment of silent wonder before the artistry of his people’s craftsmen. He let his eyes wander over the elegant curves of the City’s buildings, along the perfect geometry of the streets, over the flow of white, punctuated with rich green, flickering blue and the silver dance of fountains. 

Gorfindel inhaled deeply, charmed as always by the beauty before him. He would have turned his back to it a moment later, drawn by the warmth and comfort of his bed, if it hadn’t been for a shadow of movement in the gardens beneath his window. He remained still, concealed by the curtains, inclining his head only slightly to better catch the view of a dark-clad Elf slowly making his way to the main house. The shadow avoided all the pathways, using every tree and every bush to conceal its presence. But it advanced with the precision of one who was familiar with the gardens, taking each step and each turn without hesitation. 

For a few moments Glorfindel was tempted to lean over windowsill and call out to the stranger, to stop the bold advance. But the intruder was drawing ever closer and the shadow materialized in the familiar shape of a dark-haired Elf. Glorfindel’s shoulders sagged and he wanted to laugh at himself for the ridiculous tension he felt. What danger was there in the Blessed Realm, in the heart of Tirion and within the solid walls of a highly regarded Lord’s home? 

A different kind of tension set Glorfindel’s blood in faster motion upon recognizing the nocturnal visitor. The blond hid himself better behind the billowing curtains, listening to the sound of fabric scraping wall and fingers clutching vines. The Elf was climbing and Glorfindel knew well which open window was his destination. Glorfindel shuddered in anticipation, aware that there was _indeed_ danger in the realm of Aman. It had come for him again.

But Glorfindel was no easy touch. He had the advantage of having identified the intruder. He had put out all the lights in his bedroom and he had the cover of darkness to conceal him. Glorfindel withdrew from the window frame without a sound, but he remained close, pressed against the wall. _Waiting…_

A few shallow intakes of breath later, Glorfindel saw his bedroom getting darker and knew that his visitor was perched on the windowsill. So still and quiet that his heartbeat seemed too loud, the blond watched the intruder slowly lowering himself into the room. In the dim light, Glorfindel could discern the Elf’s features, the proud profile and the burning eyes. Those bewitching eyes scanned the room for him, sweeping over furniture, discarded clothing and the empty bed. The dark Elf appeared slightly puzzled to find the room empty, but the predatory smile he had worn when sneaking into the room did not waver.

Glorfindel continued to watch and hoped that his visitor would not look to his left. There, the Lord of the Golden Flower waited to pounce. And pounce he did, when the dark-haired Elf made to move about the room as one well accustomed to everything in it. Powerful arms enveloped the intruder, clutching him against a broad chest and restraining him. Glorfindel was well aware that he did not match the strength of his captive, despite their similar build. But still, it was a pleasant victory to hear the dark Elf gasp and feel him jump in the restrictive embrace.

“What do we have here?” the blond inquired in a low voice. “An intruder in the House of the Golden Flower? A thief? Pray tell, what are you here to steal?” 

The dark-haired Elf sighed and leaned against Glorfindel, all tension draining from his limbs. “A thief I am indeed and it seems that you have caught me,” he replied.

Through his arms, wrapped around the other’s chest, Glorfindel could feel the rumble of barely contained laughter. 

“And what a catch I have made…,” the blond countered.

“But I will steal what I came here for,” the dark-haired Elf continued. “Unless you shall relinquish it willingly.”

Glorfindel laughed first. “That remains to be seen,” he said, nuzzling the other Elf’s hair. 

“Indeed…,” the dark-haired Elf murmured, tickled by Glorfindel’s warm breath and shaken by the blond’s sensual laughter. Glorfindel’s hold on him lost none of its strength, but it was by no means unpleasant. 

The golden Elf’s unexpected visitor tilted his head, leaning heavier against Glorfindel. He expected his ear to be nibbled and Glorfindel was about to oblige when something scratched the tip of his nose.

“What in the name of Iluvatar?!” Glorfindel drew back and shook his head. The grip on his companion turned into a loose, one-armed embrace, while Glorfindel used his other hand to search for the offending object in the mass of smooth, dark hair.

“What is it?” the other Elf asked. “What causes you to invoke Iluvatar’s name so soon?

“A twig!” Glorfindel snorted. He untangled the little bit of wood and tossed it out the window.

“Laurëfindë...,” the dark-haired Elf sighed and turned in the embrace. “You let a mere twig get in your way?”

Glorfindel looked into the dark orbs that opened before him, inevitably drawing him to the fire in their depths. Open-mouthed, he stared at the Elf before him with the same kind of awe he had regarded the wonders outside his window just moments before. 

“Laurëfindë?” the dark-haired Elf tried to shake his companion out of immobile contemplation. When there was no reaction and the blond continued to look at him as if dazed, the dark Elf smiled. “I am pleased to see that I have the same effect on you after all this time. But, my golden flower, I think we should move on to something more… _substantial_. Or should I continue playing my part as a rogue and steal a kiss from you?”

Glorfindel smiled as well and it was his companion’s turn to be severely affected. Unable and unwilling to restrain himself, the dark-haired Elf grabbed Glorfindel and kissed him voraciously. The blond found himself wrapped in a fierce embrace that allowed him no illusion of freedom. But the surrender was so sweet, so heady and it made Glorfindel sway with much more than lack of breath when his mouth was released. Instinctively, he leaned forward, already wanting more.

“That is much better, don’t you think?” his lover inquired in a honeyed voice.

Glorfindel nodded and promptly returned the kiss, with the abandon of one who drank after an excruciating thirst. In many ways, it _was_ an excruciating thirst, affecting all of him, within and without. It had been a long time since he had held his lover and his closeness increased the effect of his absence tenfold.

He would have ripped his lover’s plain, black clothing apart when desire came upon him. Already Glorfindel felt his skin burning to the point of melting the thin fabric of his sleeping robe. He wanted the hands that caressed the back of his neck and his shoulder to slide under the damned fabric and touch him everywhere. He wanted to press himself against the strong body in his arms and issue soft pleas to be taken, to be ravaged, to be loved and burned to a crisp. But a grain of reason remained within the golden Elf and he swam through the rapids of his blood, straining for breath before the flood took him completely.

“I have missed you,” the dark Elf whispered, his voice rough with lust and a pang of regret. He did not protest when Glorfindel pulled away, knowing that the blond would only move far enough to momentarily collect his wits. 

“I would say the same,” Glorfindel replied. He no longer looked into his companion’s eyes, but rather followed his own hand as it slid down the dark-haired Elf’s arm. “But words are _your_ instruments, my Prince, and only you could use them well enough to attempt expressing how I feel.”

“I have missed you,” the Prince repeated with more intensity, though his voice was barely audible.

Glorfindel said nothing, for he knew that words were not necessary. They met each other in another embrace, chaste but no less fierce. Long moments passed in contended silence while they held each other.

It was Glorfindel who moved away again and the intoxication of his senses had faded somewhat. 

“Not even my mastery of words is enough to express you, my golden flower.”

“Then let us speak without words,” Glorfindel nodded. “But first, I want to see your face. I want to see all of you. Let me light a few candles.”

“Please do. Your radiance comes forth much better when bathed in light,” the Prince agreed. He took a seat on the edge of Glorfindel’s bed and watched the golden Elf going about the room. As little flames flickered and joined each other to give light, Glorfindel came into better view and his lover knew that he had spoken the truth.

“What were you saying about words just a moment ago, you flatterer?” Glorfindel laughed.

“Ah, but you like being flattered. And I love watching you acting all modest and bashful when you are well aware of your worth,” the dark-haired Elf replied, blatantly appraising the beauty before him.

“Mmmm… I hope what you came here to steal from me is worth it,” Glorfindel countered. “Fëanáro…,” he murmured, worry replacing the playfulness in the golden Elf’s eyes when he turned around and faced his lover.

The King’s eldest and most beloved son sat on the edge of Glorfindel’s bed, in plain garb as dark as the hair that cascaded unbound down his back. _‘Beautiful, beautiful beyond comprehension and belief…’_ Glorfindel murmured in the privacy of his own mind. _‘So fair, so painfully perfect…. He is just as flawless as the work of his ever restless hands. So wonderfully sad, with that look of longing in his eyes…’_ the golden Elf continued to muse. _‘Wait…so sad?!’_

Glorfindel abandoned the last of the candles he had planned to light and crossed the distance between him and his lover. He cupped Fëanor’s cheeks and traced the bruised-looking skin beneath the Prince’s eyes. With the aid of light, Glorfindel could see what he had only felt before - the restlessness that had drawn him away from the all-consuming flame of lust. Fëanor blinked several times under the gentle caress, unable to look up and hold Glorfindel’s gaze with the red imprint of tears so fresh in his eyes. 

“What ails you, my Lord?” Glorfindel inquired softly, brushing his fingers over the Fëanor's upturned face. “Tell me what makes you cry, my love,” the blond added and the tenderness that spilled from him forced Fëanor to close his eyes.

“Nothing ails me now, Laurëfindë. Nothing…,” Fëanor answered, but Glorfindel’s lips descended upon his and silenced his feeble denial.

“You need not hide from me,” the golden Elf murmured between gentle kisses.

“I do not hide from you,” Fëanor whispered.

“You worry me,” Glorfindel pressed for the truth even as his lips pressed for a more pleasant answer.

“That is exactly why I don’t want to say anything,” Fëanor fought his lover’s insistence, while his hands fought the ties of Glorfindel’s sleeping robe.

“Now I am truly worried. Speak, Fëanáro. You frighten me. What has happened?” Glorfindel took a step back and gave his lover a pleading look.

“Nothing has happened. It’s just…it’s just _me_ ,” the Prince finally admitted, lowering his eyes.

That could mean several things and Glorfindel wondered whether his lover was upset over family matters and the ongoing feud with his half-brothers. Fëanor could have just as easily been angered and frustrated by his work, by some failure that gnawed him even when tried to sleep slept. _‘Or it is your wife,’_ Glorfindel mused bitterly. _‘This is the kind of sadness and doubt you bring to my bed when she no longer accepts you in hers. You would not be here if she hadn’t inflicted some wound upon your spirit, if she hadn’t lashed back and fought your fire with her own strength.’_

As Glorfindel mused in silence, Fëanor watched him and understood that Glorfindel knew. And he flinched with guilt knowing that Glorfindel understood. It was something never spoken between them, but both knew exactly what the other thought and felt. It was their moment of shame and guilt, always broken by Glorfidel with a radiant, albeit forced smile. After all, the Lord of the Golden Flower had accepted his part long before.

“Just you…,” the blond said, more to himself than to his companion.

“Just me,” Fëanor sighed and looked up at his lover, anxious for the brilliant smile that blinded him to all else. If only for a while…

The smile came, of course, along with a string of loving words. Glorfindel pulled the Prince up to his feet and gave him all the warmth, all the golden purity of his fëa in one smile. 

***

Fëanor had not come to talk. That much was evident in spite of all the gentle coaxing his lover attempted. He had not come to be consoled either, accepting no soothing, verbal or otherwise. He waved off Glorfindel’s insistence and declared that he had not sought his lover in such precarious ways to whine and complain. 

Glorfindel understood and he knew exactly what he had to do. There was a Glorfindel for each of his lover’s moods and when the golden Elf had realized it, he did not know whether to be extremely pleased or outraged that both his hroa and fëa had instinctively found ways to wrap themselves around Fëanor as a warm blanket on a cold night. The Lord of the Golden Flower had accepted what he was and what Fëanor made of him. He had agreed to his part without shame or remorse or fear, as all were silenced when the love he felt for his Prince sang in every fiber of his being. It was his fate, Glorfindel had decided, and he would take from it as much as he could, giving back all that could be received. 

That particular evening, Glorfindel knew that Fëanor wanted to receive and would devour anything he would be given. The Prince would shed layers of himself: the heir, the half-brother, the husband, the father, the craftsman, as layers of his clothing would come off, until there would be nothing left but the lover. There would be nothing but desire, so great that it would feed Fëanor’s fire until his body could contain it no longer. While the heir, the half-brother, the husband, the father, the craftsman belonged to so many others, the naked flame that needed to be tamed belonged to Glorfindel alone.

“I will moan and complain some other time, if you are so insistent upon it,” Fëanor muttered, amusing Glorfindel with the childish display. All he needed to complete the picture was a pretty pout, but the Prince had no more patience for charades. He had fled his home in search of something more urgent and… _substantial_ , as he had previously stated.

“All right, have it your way. But it is the only thing I will yield this evening,” Glorfindel smiled, his senses picking up the subtle changes in Fëanor’s posture. They were both sitting on Glorfindel’s bed, facing each other, close enough but not touching. The dark Elf’s body shifted toward his lover and intense anticipation flashed in his eyes before it could be subdued.

“Is that so?” Fëanor inquired in a neutral tone that would have fooled anyone else but the Elf before him.

“Indeed it is. I will have you tonight. And I will do everything that I desire with you,” Glorfindel matched his lover’s tone, but their eyes spoke of different matters altogether.

“Oh?” Fëanor replied.

“Put up a fight, if you will. But your struggles will serve you little. You have been away from me for too long. Not only that, but you have the audacity to sneak up in here under the cover of darkness and frighten me in my sleep. I should have you restrained and exact retribution from you, for this violation of my privacy,” Glorfindel said. He noted the spark of interest in his lover’s eyes and congratulated himself for anticipating Fëanor’s needs before the Prince had even begun to make them known.

“My Lord! Pray tell, what gives you the authority to treat your Prince in such manner?” Fëanor feigned outrage, making Glorfindel grin broadly.

“I have been invested with this formidable authority by _desire_ , Fëanáro,” the blond leaned toward his lover and whispered as though in confidence.

“Ah! _That_ is a power I would never stand against,” Fëanor replied, moving closer to Glorfindel. 

“A wise decision, my love,” Glorfindel smiled approvingly. "Now come," he beckoned, but there was no need for it. Fëanor had already flung himself at him, crushing their mouths together, his hands plunging in Glorfindel's unbound hair. 

It was a struggle for Glorfindel to breathe and not become completely intoxicated by the crisp air that always surrounded Fëanor. It was an even harder struggle to keep those wandering hands from clutching and grasping and pulling Glorfindel flush against him, but their knees bumped and prevented it. Glorfindel knew he was fighting a losing battle when his lips parted around a muffled moan and his mouth was plundered. But he had promised something else entirely and he would not let Fëanor dictate their love play. Not yet and not when he knew what the Prince needed.

"Mmmm... enough," the blond purred and wrenched himself away, pushing Fëanor back a fraction. Beneath his palms, he felt his lover's racing heart and the unbelievable heat of him, making Glorfindel wonder how the simple fabric of his clothes could contain it and not combust.

"It's never enough, my golden beauty," Fëanor murmured hotly.

"No, but... Stay!" Glorfindel raised his hand in a forbidding gesture as he sat up and Fëanor made to follow him.

The dark-haired Elf's brow creased and he would have protested, but his luscious lips curved into an appreciative smile instead. Glorfindel pulled off his sleeping robe in one quick motion, bunching the silk in one hand and exposing himself with a matching smile.

"Hello," Fëanor said softly and his eyes poured fire in Glorfindel's loins. He could have sworn that he felt those hungry eyes moving over his hard length in a ghostly caress that caused him to stand even more firmly at attention. 

" _We_ are very pleased to see you, Sire."

"I can see that. So are _we_ ," Fëanor chuckled throatily and sat up as well, peeling off his form-hugging shirt in one fluid motion. 

Glorfindel smirked inwardly and wondered how Fëanor motivated the purchase of non-descript, black clothing or if anyone in his house dared to question it in the first place. But then, the tight breeches came off as well and Fëanor kicked off his boots, standing before Glorfindel and posing in all his naked glory. Candle light flickered over the expanse of flawless skin, slipping over the curves of muscle and sinew, dipping into the little valleys where Glorfindel knew he would be drinking lust from before long. The mere thought of it made him moan low in his throat and he fought the impulse to kneel before his lover. That huge, hard length jutted proudly and pointed a wordless demand which Glorfindel badly wanted to fulfill.

"Good evening," he whispered hoarsely, returning the salute. "Hold, Fëanáro!" he raised his free hand again, eliciting an impatient growl for his effort to keep his lover at bay.

"What? Oh...," Fëanor paused and his eyes widened at the sounds of ripping fabric. 

Glorfindel methodically destroyed his robe, tearing off one sleeve and then the next. He discarded the remains and tugged the sleeves to test their resistance, then wrapped them around his wrist and cocked his head at the delighted anticipation on his lover's face. Without another word, he closed the distance between them, glad to stand as tall as his Prince and well nigh-as broad. Of course, he could never best Fëanor's strength, but sometimes Fëanor allowed him to master it and he twitched against Glorfindel's stomach in appreciation when the blond pulled him close.

"Don't tease! Don't stall...," Fëanor murmured between kisses. "I have very little patience left. I need you," he moaned breathlessly, fingers digging into Glorfindel's back with bruising force, hips grinding against Glorfindel's and for a moment, all Glorfindel wanted was to crash on the bed and have that length split him in half without preparation or delay.

He groaned hungrily at the thought and bit into the tender skin above Fëanor's collar bone, careless about marking him. He met no protest when maneuvering his lover back to the bed and pushed him onto the coverlet. On the contrary, Fëanor fell back with a delighted sigh and spread his legs to accommodate Glorfindel. That little show of surrender turned Glorfindel's vision white and he rolled his hips against the heat beneath him.

"Do you submit?" he breathed on Fëanor's lips, knowing it was superfluous to inquire but such was their game (and such was his lover's pride), that Glorfindel would always ask.

"Mmm," Fëanor's lips curved into a challenging grin. "Make me!"

Issuing a guttural sound, Glorfindel collected his lover’s arms and pinned them above his head. He straddled Fëanor and loomed over him for a moment, the fall of his golden hair cocooning them in a pocked of raw lust. Fëanor’s eyes were dark and naked flames danced in them, but, above all else, there was _trust_ in his inviting smile and Glorfindel lowered his head for a brief, possessive kiss. 

Before Fëanor could struggle against his hold, Glorfindel sprang off him and drew one of his hands to the ornately carved headboard. Unraveling the torn sleeves from his own hand, Glorfindel bound his lover’s wrist tight enough to secure it but not to cause Fëanor discomfort.

“I will break your headboard,” Fëanor drawled, stretching languidly.

“I’ve had it reinforced with steel bars after our last… incident,” Glorfindel smirked.

“Oh… clever!” Fëanor complimented him with a sinful smile and tugged the restraint. “The ties won’t hold,” he said teasingly.

“It’s spider silk,” Glorfindel’s grin sported many, many teeth as he moved to Fëanor’s other side and deftly bound his left hand as well. “The robe was a gift from my mother’s Vanyarin family. I may have torn the seams, but the silk will hold.”

Fëanor tested his bonds with more vigor, seeing for himself that Glorfindel did not merely tease. 

“And you ruined such a precious gift?” he fell back on the bed and smiled lazily, in complete contrast to the fire in his eyes and the tautness in his bound body. “Such a shame…,”

“Mmm, no. Anything to please my Prince,” Glorfindel replied huskily. He was atop Fëanor once more and kissed him thoroughly before crawling down that magnificent body and peppering his smooth skin with kisses. He let his hair fall over Fëanor’s chest and dragged it over him in a silky caress that Fëanor delighted in. 

But the delight melted into an impatient look when Glorfindel left the bed and gave himself a moment to bask in the gloriousness before him. 

“One of these days… I’m going to paint you like this,” he mused, taking in the coiled strength on his bed with unconcealed adoration. It made him swell harder and he felt his own length come up against his belly at the sheer beauty and the knowledge that, for a little while at least, Fëanor was in his power.

“You can try, but how long do you think you’d be able to keep your hands off me, mmm?”

“I would gag you, too, although I do so very much like the way you cry out in bliss. Ah,” Glorfindel smirked at the flash of outrage in those bewitching eyes and turned from Fëanor’s delicious struggle against the bonds. His eyes fell on a large candle he had relit and narrowed, as he wondered whether he should use it or not.

 _‘But no, no pain. Not tonight,’_ he told himself. He retrieved the bottle of brandy and pulled out the cork with his teeth, taking a deep swig and shivering as it burned down his throat. 

“What are you doing?” Fëanor complained. “You’re supposed to get drunk on _me_ ,” he smirked and raised his hips pointedly, drawing a throaty chuckle from Glorfindel.

“Oh, I mean to,” the blond returned to his lover’s side and before Fëanor’s widening eyes, he poured a generous amount of amber-colored liquor on his chest. It ran in tiny rivulets over Fëanor’s heated skin, making him hiss and shudder. Some of it pooled in the indentation of his navel, some spilled over his sides to stain the coverlet. 

Glorfindel set the bottle aside and licked his lips. He pushed his hair over one shoulder and swooped in, tasting the heady combination of burning liquor, sweat and the intoxicating desire that was Fëanor. He lapped the little pool of brandy, chasing the squirming muscles and using both hands to keep Fëanor in place. He licked and sucked and bit his lover’s nipples into moist, red beacons of fire and then poured brandy over them as well, making Fëanor yelp and writhe furiously. 

Bottle still in hand, Glorfindel moved lower and flicked his tongue in kittenish licks over the head of Fëanor’s cock. It was so hard and flushed dark already and Glorfindel savored the taste of him, mixed with the aroma of aged brandy. Fëanor moaned throatily and tried to push more of himself past Glorfindel’s lips, but the blond withdrew, nuzzling the engorged length and smiling against it.

“Do. Not. Move,” he warned. “Or I might hurt you.”

“What…?”Fëanor gasped and eyed him warily, but willed himself to stay still and lowered his legs onto the coverlet when Glorfindel motioned him to do so.

“It might sting all the same,” Glorfindel shrugged minutely and tossed back another gulp of brandy straight from the bottle. He pressed Fëanor down with one hand splayed on his stomach and used the other to guide his erection back between his lips. Warm liquid seeped down the sensitive skin and Fëanor stiffened, issuing a high, breathless moan. His hips jerked, but Glorfindel held him in place, swirling his tongue over the hot flesh, teasing the slit and basking in the sounds that spilled from his lover’s lips. Then, his head plunged and he took as much of that huge shaft as he could in a hot, wet mess that made him moan low in his throat as well. 

Fëanor shuddered and muttered some breathless obscenities. With the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw him struggling against the bonds, hands balled into fists and the muscles in his arms bugling with effort. It was a glorious sight and one Glorfindel would have taken a moment to savor properly if not for the hard flesh that pushed insistently past his lips. He sucked and licked with relish for a few more moments and then sat up with a triumphant grin.

“I take it you liked that,” he observed huskily.

“Uh,” Fëanor gasped and then threw his head back in breathless laughter. “It stung!” he glared, but the effect was lost in his flushed and absolutely delectable appearance.

“That was the idea.”

“Bastard!” Fëanor growled and nudged Glorfindel with his leg. “Do it again.” 

Glorfindel needed no further invitation and repeated the brandy-enhanced process, wondering what would make him lose his mind first, the alcohol or the taste of release growing stronger on his tongue. In all honesty, the combination of both was lethal, but Glorfindel endured it and somehow refrained from giving his own painfully hard length some much needed attention.

Fëanor gleamed with sweat and burned with lust when Glorfindel finally set the bottle aside and staggered through the room to pick up a phial of oil. His head swam and his vision even more so, but he shook himself and blocked out the way his own body called for him to hurry. On the bed, Fëanor stared at him with dark, wide eyes and when he spread his legs in silent urging, Glorfindel almost spilled himself at the sight.

Jaw clenched and breathing sharply through his nose, the blond fetched a pillow and slipped it under Fëanor’s hips, pausing to kiss the other Elf sloppily. He knelt between those long, muscular legs and caressed Fëanor’s flanks lovingly, trying not to laugh as the impatient Elf kicked him into doing more than that. In retaliation, Glorfindel lowered his head and for a good long time, he teased his lover’s tight opening without pity. From that position, he could see Fëanor with his head tossed back and his eyes closed in bliss, panting and writhing beneath the all too gentle assault. Glorfindel moved his tongue in lazy circles until his nose nudged Fëanor’s taut sac. The sucked in one of the hard globes and chuckled throatily when Fëanor barked garbled obscenities, flexing his arms in a desperate effort.

Hands would have been in his hair, either to haul him up or to hold him in place while Fëanor took his mouth to the point of choking him. But alas for Fëanor, his hands were nicely restrained, giving Glorfindel the chance to tease leisurely. He slicked his hand and rubbed Fëanor’s length in a slow, sensual massage that drew more pearly fluid out. But of course, it wasn’t fast enough and when he wouldn’t pick up the pace, Fëanor cursed him colorfully.

“So dirty…,” Glorfindel smacked him playfully and ducked out of the way when Fëanor bucked wildly, trying to kick him. “None of that or I’ll leave you like this,” the blond growled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Are you sure?” Glorfindel tilted his head and smiled, unimpressed by the dirty look his lover shot him. “Be still and let me prepare you,” he stroked Fëanor’s thighs until he relaxed and spread his legs wantonly again.

Fëanor took one of his fingers easily enough, but on the second, he grew tense and Glorfindel’s head began to swim again. He was so tight, almost virginal… and he _had_ been untouched the first time he’d come to Glorfindel. The blond remembered how clumsy their coupling had been and how terrified he was that he would hurt his Prince… but much time had passed since then and he’d learned precisely what Fëanor loved best. Prolonged, agonizing teasing was, of course, not very high on the impatient Elf’s list of preferences, but he had no choice, not when Glorfindel took his time and stretched him thoroughly. He too was well endowed and painfully hard, wishing nothing more than to sink into that clenching heat. But Glorfindel did not stop sliding and scissoring his fingers and stroking the sensitive nub until Fëanor’s imaginative curses melted into shaky moans and his length twitched on the verge of release.

Only then did Glorfindel rise and he hissed sharply while slicking his own length. Just a few more strokes as he took in the sight that would make even the Valar weep and he’d fall apart. But he grit his teeth and squeezed the base of his shaft hard, grunting with the effort to stave off release. Beneath him, Fëanor raised his head and his eyes shone in unfocused pleading. They could draw it out only so much before it became painful for both of them.

Glorfindel raised his lover’s legs and anchored himself against the hard muscles of Fëanor’s hips. He nudged past the slick opening and then, his heart stopped while he slowly eased himself into the clenching inferno. Fëanor threw his head back and the tendons in his arms stood out like taut rope beneath his skin. His mouth was open in a silent scream and his chest heaved in short, sharp breaths. Glorfindel watched him and thought he might die from the unbelievable sight if not from the burning passage that squeezed the very life out of him. When Fëanor’s buttocks finally pressed against his sack, Glorfindel let out a long, throaty moan and his vision burned red. He felt that his eyes might explode or his heart would burst and he ran his hands frantically over sweaty skin, willing Fëanor to relax before he squeezed him to death.

He would not move even after the vise-grip eased and he could focus on the taut body beneath him again, although his eyes watered and the heat was still unbearable. Glorfindel reached between Fëanor’s legs and stroked him quickly, bringing him back to full hardness. He forced himself to hold still and catch his breath, even when Fëanor jerked into his hand and moaned softly, clenching and unclenching around Glorfindel’s ample girth. Very, very slowly, Glorfindel attempted to slide back and forth into the excruciatingly tight passage, grunting as he did so. _It had been too bloody long since he’d sheathed himself in such exquisite heat_ , he muttered and did not know whether he’d said it aloud or only within the confines of his very dizzy head. But he heard Fëanor groaning something and felt him pushing back, encouraging him to thrust. When Glorfindel hesitated, Fëanor berated him obscenely and dug his heels into Glorfindel’s back, as though he were spurring on a misbehaving mount. With a savage growl, Glorfindel drew back and gave his demanding lover what he wanted.

They slammed into each other harder and faster, panting harshly and growing slick with sweat. Glorfindel’s grip on Fëanor became slippery as did his control over his own body. Stars began to explode before his eyes and he almost didn’t hear Fëanor calling out to him, over the roar of blood in his ears.

“Untie me!” Fëanor panted, struggling wildly against the strips of silk around his wrists. “I want to… _ooh!_ ” he broke beneath a deep thrust that seared him and stole his breath. “Untie me!” he moaned and then _“Please…”_

Glorfindel lunged forward and crushed his mouth in a savage kiss. But he could not reach the ties, no matter how much Fëanor tried to fold himself beneath him. They both groaned miserably at the loss when Glorfindel withdrew and tried to release his lover’s hands. But his fingers trembled and slipped, making him curse violently as it took too long to set Fëanor free. Somehow, he managed and he fully expected to be grabbed as soon as Fëanor regained use of both his hands. Glorfindel would not put it past Fëanor to throw him down and take him unprepared as he was in payment for all the teasing. 

But, to the blond’s open-mouthed delight, Fëanor sprang up and positioned himself on all fours, paying the abused skin of his wrists absolutely no mind. His dark, tangled mane fell over his shoulders and arched back and when Fëanor raised his eyes to Glorfindel, he seemed positively savage with lust.

“ _Hard_ , Laurëfindë!” he demanded thickly. “As hard as you can. _Now_!” he growled at Glorfindel’s motionless and entirely boneless stare.

Coming back to his senses after a light-headed moment of contemplation, Glorfindel repositioned himself and slid back into the searing heat with a vicious thrust. He groaned loudly and tossed his head back, stopping only for a moment. But his mount would have none of that, bucking wildly and snarling savagely for him to move.

“NOW!” Fëanor shouted gutturally and with a wild call of his own, Glorfindel lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of the glossy black hair and yanking Fëanor’s head back. One hand on his slippery hip and the other using Fëanor’s hair as reins, Glorfindel mounted him roughly, too far gone to care if Fëanor would ever need to walk or sit down again. 

“Yes!” Fëanor groaned, pushing himself back with the full force of his arms. “Oh, Eru… _yes!_ ” he shuddered and then, Glorfindel couldn’t really hear him anymore. There was nothing but heat and the desperate need for release and he pounded into the writhing body before him as though his life depended on it. 

Fëanor _burned_ … gods, he burned and shuddered violently. A keening cry tore from his throat and broke beneath violent hammer strokes. Glorfindel felt him clench spasmodically and knew that Fëanor had come without a single touch, but the desperate race was still on for him and he grabbed Fëanor’s hips, pulling him back on his cock when Fëanor’s arms gave beneath him and he fell forward on the pillows. Glorfindel thrust furiously, deep and with all the strength he had left, tottering on the brink of release and also to remain upright. Fëanor still moaned and curled one had around his length, stroking himself and trying to draw the climax out. The tremors that wracked his body pushed Glorfindel over the edge and he cried out hoarsely, flooding the pliant body beneath him with hot bursts of his seed. He thrust and thrust in the slick heat until he emptied himself and then fell forward in a boneless heap, panting harshly. 

Fëanor grunted in protest but did not have the strength to throw off the body that crushed him, nor could Glorfindel move even if he wanted to. He felt light, incredibly light, floating on a flaming sea of bliss and he cared not one bit that they had crashed on the bed in a sprawling heap, bathed in sweat like two race-horses at the end of their strength.

…

Fëanor sprawled languidly on the bed, half-draped over Glorfindel and resting his head of the blond's chest. They'd shaken of the orgasmic stupor some time before, but sleep would not come. There would be more sex before that and in between, the moments of satisfied companionship that Glorfindel loved the most. Fëanor was always so open and honest when blissfully spent and he gave Glorfindel his complete trust far more easily.

"So, how goes it at father's court?" the Prince inquired casually.

Glorfindel watched him play with strands of dark and golden hair, twisting them together in such a perfect spiral that something tore painfully in Glorfindel's gut. He combed his fingers through Fëanor's hair and raised himself to press a kiss to the top of his head.

"You wouldn't have to ask if you graced us with your presence sometimes," he ventured to reproach his lover.

"But, Laurëfindë… I can't waste my time playing dress-up in heavy robes with stiff-necked Lords and Ladies. I have _work_ to do," Fëanor replied petulantly. 

"Are you implying that what we do is not work?"

"I don't know. You sit and talk al day, no? I couldn't do that. It would drive me up the walls, you know it."

"Fëanáro…," Glorfindel sighed. "If you deigned to attend, you would see that we do not sit and talk all day. You know what running a kingdom entails, you've been groomed for it only to fly out of the city and evade the responsibilities of your position."

"Is that so? Your words or those of my detractors?" Fëanor grew tense and raised his head to frown at Glorfindel.

"What do you think?" Glorfindel smiled wryly, petting the dark head and trying to soothe Fëanor's annoyance away. "All the more reason for you to attend some of the meetings and involve yourself in the decision-making. Don't give _them_ more reasons to call you rebellious and uncivilized."

"Uncivilized?!" Fëanor snorted. "That's rich! And you want me to sit primly among people who would put me under a magnifying glass and judge me no matter what I say or do? I don’t think so. I have no time to waste on such charades when people _need_ me elsewhere."

"But you are the High Prince…"

"I know! But there's more to our kingdom than Tirion. _My_ people are out there," Fëanor gestured impatiently toward the window. "All the towns and villages north and south of the City know me as their Lord. I am father's representative among them but in truth, I am their _king_ , Laurëfindë. I work with them, I am there when they sow and harvest, when they mine and forge, when their sons and daughters are born and when they bind themselves to one another. I come to court to speak on their behalf and yes, I have been brought up as father's heir. But I wish more people understood that our kingdom is not just here. Tirion may be the heart of it, but all around it flows its life-blood. I love father greatly and that is why I wish for him to come to me and be among his people, rather than sequestered here. And _you_ as well," Fëanor declaimed passionately, raising himself from the loose circle of Glorfindel's arms.

"Aye," Glorfindel sighed wistfully. "But then, who would be your spy at court?"

"Good point," Fëanor deflated and fell back against Glorfindel's chest, making the blond smile ruefully. "Speaking of spying, how is that coming along? I hear that Turukáno has grown rather fond of you."

"You hear?"

"I am not _completely_ oblivious to what happens here, you know."

"Do tell," Glorfindel huffed.

" _You_ should tell. All I know is that Turukáno has welcomed you and Ektello into his confidence."

"That was rather the idea, wasn't it?" Glorfindel retorted.

"Yes. But what is it like? Feigning loyalty to that brat, I mean."

"Ah… we are _all_ loyal to your father, Fëanáro. This whole division among our people is in your heads, yours and Nolofinwë's and I keep waiting for you to snap out of it one day and see how foolish you are."

"Well, thank you for your insight," Fëanor muttered. "Foolish or no, things are the way they are. But you did not answer my question. How does your friendship with Turukáno go? Does he like you?"

"I… suppose he does," Glorfindel hesitated, wondering where the conversation was going and what really lay behind his lover's questions.

"He hasn't asked you to swear fealty to him or any such madness, has he?" Fëanor insisted, sitting up once more and eying Glorfindel intently.

"No. Of course not."

"But if he did, you wouldn't pledge yourself, would you?"

"Fëanáro, what is this all about?" Glorfindel pushed himself up on the pillows, all traces of languid ease vanishing in the wake of fresh worry. 

"Nothing. I just… you are loyal to me, are you not?"

"Fëanáro, I _love_ you. There is nothing stronger or more important than that. Of course I am loyal to you," Glorfindel said, honest but wounded to hear that Fëanor doubted him. 

"Of course you are," Fëanor smiled softly and moved closer, cupping Glorfindel's cheek and kissing him tenderly. "Forgive me. I do not doubt you, my golden beauty," he whispered on Glorfindel's lips. 

Glorfindel smiled and wrapped his arms around his lover but his stomach twisted into knots and he would have screamed if he were alone to do so. Fëanor always enjoyed being reassured and showered with affection (although he would never openly admit it), but he must have been wounded deeply if he harbored such doubts. _'How could she?!'_ Glorfindel growled angrily to himself, but he could not think of that. He could not let resentment fester inside him and poison the precious time he had with Fëanor. No, that time needed to be spent much better.

"I don't want you to like Turukáno," Fëanor murmured and smiled playfully as he drew back, retreating for the dangerous waters he had just dipped into.

Glorfindel wanted to kiss him for that and did precisely so.

"And why is that? Why can't I like your nephew?" he pursued the matter with a teasing smile of his own.

"Because… ah, how could you like someone so stiff and lifeless and full of contempt?"

"Well… you do have a point. Turukáno is a cold and pompous little shit, but he does have his merits. They _all_ do," Glorfindel said pointedly.

"Oh, shut up. The only one worth something from that whole line of Indis spawn is Findekáno. Angaráto and Aikanáro too. Maybe," Fëanor said, entirely straight-faced, although his eyes gleamed with laughter, taking Glorfindel aback with how easily his mood had lifted.

"You're only saying that because those three do little else but chase after your sons like love-sick puppies."

"Well, they should. _Everybody_ should," Fëanor nodded seriously.

"Oh, could you be any more full of yourself?" Glorfindel groaned and rolled his eyes.

" _If_ I were full of myself, I wouldn't need _you_ to fill me up so nicely, now would I?" Fëanor smirked, obviously satisfied by his witty remark.

"What…?" Glorfindel blinked and for a moment, his mind engaged in unwanted images of the mechanics behind those words. He rolled his eyes again and let his head thump against the headboard. "Bastard!" he groaned.

"I love you too," Fëanor chuckled and swung his leg over Glorfindel's body, straddling him. He leaned closer and stole long, thorough kiss. His hands were not idle, but his touch was gentle and Glorfindel sighed softly when their lips parted.

"Tell me, why do you hate Turukáno so much?" he found himself asking before he could think better of it.

"Hmm?"

"I know he's a pompous ass, but still…"

"I'll tell you why. I cannot tolerate him and his ilk because he has the audacity to pass judgment on his own brother and scorn him because he loves Nelyo. Oh, not openly, he is his father's perfect little son in the public eye, but Findekáno himself has told me that his brother calls him depraved and corrupt and _soiled_ by the dirty Fëanorion. Turukáno would probably spit on you if he knew how beautifully you squirm beneath me now," Fëanor finished, more than a hint of cruelty in his voice.

"I'd like to see him try!" Glorfindel growled in response. "I would _really_ like to see him try or to hear such words coming out of his mouth," the blond bristled, his eyes mirroring Fëanor's belligerent look as he thought of Nolofinwë's second-born.

"And what would you do then, my beauty?" Fëanor goaded him on.

"I would show him the business end of my sword," Glorfindel declared hotly and then moaned in unexpected pleasure as his lover shifted atop him and his quickly filling length slid between Fëanor's buttocks. 

A small hiss of discomfort slipped past Fëanor's lips, reminding Glorfindel how thoroughly he had used him. The thought poured renewed lust in his loins and Fëanor smiled sinfully. He took Glorfindel's hands and pressed them against the head-board, twining their fingers. He rocked his hips slowly and his smile broadened to see and feel Glorfindel's immediate response.

"Speaking of swords… how do you practice swordplay in Tirion these days?" he inquired casually.

"We… ah! What do you mean?" Glorfindel struggled to stay still and not buck into that delicious heat.

"Do you train and spar with wooden swords?"

"Yes!" Glorfindel replied breathlessly, to the curious question but even more so to the hard muscles that squeezed around his length. "Why do you ask?"

"Wooden swords are for beginners and youths." 

"But Fëanáro… you know that we are permitted to wear real swords only for ceremony and it is forbidden to raise a real weapon against any opponent, even in training," Glorfindel said breathlessly, exhilarated by the things Fëanor did to his body but also thrilled by the hard edge in his eyes as he spoke of weapons.

"Forbidden, is it?" Fëanor mused, his eyes narrowing. " _This_ is forbidden too," he lowered his head and licked Glorfindel's bottom lip, pressing harder on his length and rolling his hips. "But I don't care. I _want_ you," he nipped Glorfindel's lip, drinking his needful moan. "Come home with me tomorrow," Fëanor whispered urgently. "Ride out with me and let me show you the sword I have tempered for you. It's sharp and magnificent as you are. Let me teach you _real_ swordplay," he breathed hotly in Glorfindel's ear.

 _"Yes!"_ Glorfindel exhaled, tilting his head and welcoming that hot mouth to move down the side of his neck. 

Fëanor smiled against his skin and sucked a brilliant love-bite high up, where everyone would see it. Beneath him, Glorfindel hissed and tried to pull his hands free, but Fëanor would not let him.

"It'll be glorious, you'll see," Fëanor purred seductively. "Naked skin and naked steel… we'll clash until every muscle in our bodies aches and we are dripping with sweat. I'll show you," he breathed the promise on Glorfindel's lips and the blond whined in agreement. 

Fëanor released his hands and Glorfindel meant to pull his lover down for a full-body embrace, but Fëanor squirmed free and laughed throatily. 

"I will forge you into a _real_ warrior," he vowed lustily and another irresistible thrill ran through Glorfindel. 

He nodded eagerly, dismissing all the alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind.

"But first, I have a sword here that needs some serious polishing," Fëanor gave his heavy erection a pointed look. "And then, I'd like to sheathe it someplace tight and warm. Any ideas?" he slapped Glorfindel's thigh playfully. 

Glorfindel fell back against the headboard, laughing breathlessly. That was Fëanor... hot and cold, intense and playful, serious then joking in the same breath. It did one's head in and Glorfindel had learned not to fight it, but rather, to roll with it. Or to roll _on_ it, as his lover would have smartly replied.

"Fetch me the oil," he said laughingly and cracked his fingers in preparation, to Fëanor's great amusement.


End file.
